Hug Plz
by Renegone
Summary: A hastily written little one shot of a Dalish Grey Warden and her Alistair.  Contains woe over Tamlen and Alistair being gorgeous.  No apologies for this one - read at your own risk. ;


She couldn't believe it. Tamlen. Tamlen in her camp, attacking her. His face not the same boy she had known. His eyes did not hold the same pleasant mischief or his words show the same innocent affection. Why wouldn't he let her try to heal him? She had been healed; it stood to reason she could give him the same cure! She could have! She could!

She tried to stop them, when he attacked her. "No! Don't! Stop!" But the damage was done. Alistair, confused, halted his blows, but Morrigan had already unleashed her fury, Zevran's blades had already found his back. Leliana's arrow was poised and ready, and when Tamlen made one last surge for her the arrow loosed and Sten's heavy sword made the final blow. Jetsam stood growling at her feet, but she could only stare.

_'I have always loved you, lethallan.'_

No! No! No!

She stepped forward as if to touch Tamlen as the dying sigh racked out of him, rattling and empty. She could feel their eyes on her and knew that her face was a mask of horror, but what could she say? She could say nothing, could hardly think watching the light leave his body. Unable to look at his corpse or endure the company of others, she turned and paced quickly away.

She didn't stop walking. The forest surrounded her with it's dark arms reaching for her and it's dangers lurking in wait. She didn't care. Jetsam followed closely at her heels, whining anxiously for her to return to the fire. She ignored him, for the first time feeling intense rage at his incomplete understanding and childlike adoration. She wished he would go away. She wished this would _all_ just go away.

It seemed like a lifetime ago since she had been in camp with her clan, as if the days she had lived there were from a tale of someone else's life. But she ached for those days now as sharply as if they were a knife in her gut, running her through. Why had she left? She would rather have stayed and suffered her fate, stayed to find Tamlen and bring him to the Keeper. They both could have left to become Grey Wardens, and this never would have happened.

"Lyna!"

Alistair's worried voice didn't get through to her, but his arm at her elbow did. She didn't realize how fast she had been walking until the force of his light touch made her jerk around to face him, purely from her own momentum. She blinked in bewilderment.

He was silent a moment as he looked at her, his dark eyes apprehensive. His expression was equal parts certainty and uncertainty, determined to get through to her but not sure how to do it. In so many ways he was still somewhere between a boy and a man, though he was far closer to the latter than he would ever give himself credit for. He proved that when he finally spoke; his plead was simple.

"Please come back to camp. If you want to be alone, I won't argue, but... it's not safe out here, and, I really don't want to be the last Grey Warden." Though his last words were chosen in his usual bid for lightheartedness, their tone was entirely devoid of it – serious, imploring, and even loving. It shamed her, reminded her of her duty, but she was not yet ready to talk so she only nodded. She began to walk slowly with him back to camp, a much longer walk than she realized it would be.

The campfire was dull and faraway. She had walked a long way in her haste, not even noticing the way the night crowded in around her. Now, she was at once relieved and sorry to leave it. Part of her still wanted to turn back and run away, return to the way things were before she ever heard of the Blight or met a Grey Warden. She wanted to go back to the day she and Tamlen found the mirror, do things differently. Would Tamlen have survived if she had only asked the Keeper for help, first? Would the Grey Warden have ever noticed her? No, no, she was sure none of it would have happened. Everything would have stayed the same, for a while at least.

But it was a selfish thought, and as soon as she had entertained the fantasy for half a moment she looked harshly back into the woods as if to punish herself. The Blight would have come. She might still have watched Tamlen succumb to it, and all her other friends, instead of standing here between the Darkspawn and the rest of her clan. Perhaps she had not been given a choice, but that did not mean it was not the right thing to do all the same.

But, oh! That didn't make Tamlen's fate any less her fault, or any easier to bear. The part of her that was still the simple Dalish hunter who missed home could not forgive herself for the loss of her friend, even if the Grey Warden in her could. One second when the Warden in her was winning, she could numb herself to the pain and think of getting on with it, and the next second when her old self broke through she could hardly stand it. She stopped in her tracks before they broke the circle of tents around the camp, before the fire could illuminate her face and the rest of them could see the torment in their leader's eyes.

"You loved him, didn't you?" Alistair's voice was questioning but heartbroken, like he already knew. A flash of anger fired up in her again that he had the audacity to be _jealous_ over a boy she just had to kill! If he made her explain herself she was just going to... well, she didn't know what! She didn't get the time to come up with it, either, because he continued.

"You don't have to answer," the Templar continued. "I promised I wouldn't make you talk. I just... want to help."

She instantly felt sorry for the inner voice that had yelled at him a moment before, berating herself for having doubted him. Of course he wasn't heartbroken _over_ her; he was heartbroken _for_ her. Sometimes he really was good beyond belief. Her brow was furrowed apologetically as she looked back to him, though he would have no idea what she was sorry about.

One look at her pitiful face and he broke his own rule again. He just couldn't sit still and watch her feel so badly. "I don't know if makes it any better," he began, "but you did what you could for him. You ended his suffering."

At last, her silence was broken. "But I didn't," she argued, and her voice rose, accusatory. "_You_ did. Or the others," she quickly corrected. "I..." She looked at the ground, ashamed, and the fight went out of her. "I couldn't even give him that much. I lead him into that cave – arrogant, foolish child! And then I couldn't even undo what I'd done to him." Her expression was pained.

"He recognized me, Alistair. There was something still left of him in that... thing." She shook her head, her expression begging for forgiveness that wasn't his to give. "I couldn't... even though he asked me to."

He reached for her, laying a hand on her arm though she couldn't feel it through both their thick suits of armor – there was nothing but the cold clink of metal. But she could see the ache in his dark eyes as he looked at her, a pain felt on her behalf. Somehow, just knowing he shared it with her did bring some small relief.

"What can I do?" he asked. He almost begged her to tell him how to ease her pain, as if that were even possible. As she looked at him, she knew only one thing would do.

"Take off your armor."

He took a half step back in shock. "What? I..." He had gone tense from head to toe and stared at her with the most incredulous, almost frightened look on his face. "Now? That doesn't seem... I mean, I know you're hurting, but... I'm not even sure I... _Here?_"

"Please," she pleaded, pulling off her own gloves and throwing them to the ground, quickly followed by her bracers.

"Look, you've had a shock and I get that. Maybe you should just go – "

"Alistair," she interrupted, looking hurt. "_Please_ don't make me go to Morrigan."

"_Morrigan?_" His tone was completely disgusted. "You'd go to _Morrigan?_" But when she only pulled off her sword and tossed it to the ground, he realized how serious she was. "Fine," he agreed without grace and tossed his own blade to the ground. "I'll do it. Not because I want to, but because you want me to, and you're hurting, and I love you. Must be some... Dalish thing... post-death cheer up ritual... completely... just... Morrigan, really?"

As he blathered, he undressed, removing all the uncomfortable metal casing from his chest and arms that would prevent what she really wanted, and when they were both down to the deer hide undershirts that kept their plates from chaffing she let him continue until his chest was bare because... well... because she could. When he was finally there and there was nothing standing between them but air, she stepped forward, buried her face in his chest, and hugged him for dear life.

"Oh..." he said after a moment, finally getting the hint. "Oh," he then continued in another tone entirely as he wrapped his arms back around her and lowered his cheek to the top of her head. "You _could_ have just said," he chided gently.

"It cheered me up to watch you squirm," she admitted weakly against his skin. The brief chuckle that thrummed in his chest threatened to make her grin, and she hugged a little tighter.

For once, he knew exactly what to do and he simply held onto her as a long, silent moment passed. And then eventually, even though she had given no other sign, he felt the wetness of her tears against his skin. He murmured to her softly and gently threaded his fingers through her hair, or ran his hand down the back of her arm, or left a tender kiss just on her widow's peak. He said softly, "I wish I knew what to say."

But his honesty was more perfect than any wise speech that Wynne, Leliana, or even Duncan might have come up with, and she squeezed him gratefully. At long last, a long, shuddering sigh escaped her and her tears began to dry up – or maybe she just ran out of the will to cry them, she wasn't sure. For a few more moments she indulged in the rare warmth of simply being held by him, even if it was selfish and not exactly necessary. They were in the middle of a war and though they took what time they had in camp snuggling wasn't exactly a priority. She breathed in deeply of his scent and savored the moment now, something in her warning that she might not get another chance.

And then at long last, her grip loosened slightly and her arms fell down around his hips . He looked down into her face and brushed his thumb across her cheeks to wipe away any remaining wetness. "Feel better?" he asked kindly, and she nodded silently. For what felt like a long time they looked back at each other, his face searching or perhaps waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he finally seemed contented, and he nodded toward the camp.

"Come on, let's get you to bed. You've had a hard day," he told her, and she was amused that this time his words weren't engineered toward their usual purpose. This time he actually meant for sleeping, but as he tried to lead her away by the hand she held steadfast and didn't move. He looked at her questioningly.

"I'm not sure I can sleep," she explained, and because he was a Grey Warden, too, she didn't have to say anything further. Their eyes met, and he understood. He came back a step towards her, his tone reassuring.

"If you have any dreams, I'll be there," he assured her. "You can tell me about them."

She gave a very small, almost imperceptible smile. "You will have already seen them."

"I promise to act surprised," he countered, and her smile grew to fruition, if a little weak. "There it is," he said, his voice softer as he looked into her face and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Light at the end of the tunnel."

She stood on tiptoe to plant a light kiss on his lips. "I don't deserve you," she told him.

He snorted. "No, you haven't done anything _that_ bad, but we Grey Wardens must suffer with our burdens." He touched her chin lightly, affectionately, and then his eyes swept across her face. She liked that. She knew she must have looked like she'd been punched in the face after all that crying, but he didn't seem to care.

"I'll get your armor," he offered, and she nodded and let him, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to gather herself back up. When they returned to camp, it was with no little curiosity from the rest of the camp, returning after so long and half dressed to boot, but everyone was kind enough not to question either of them as they disappeared into her tent. Zevran's voice carried across the fire first, when they were gone from view.

"Didn't know he had it in him."

"Zevran, that is not very kind," Leliana chastised – although obviously half-amused – in her thick Orlesian accent.

"It must have been our talk," the elf concluded. "He was listening after all!"

"Maybe he figured a few things out on his own?"

"It is possible. Our other Warden does seem like a _very_ capable teacher... but one always has room for further instruction."

"You're impossible!"


End file.
